The Laughing Mill, and Other StoriesHawthorne, Julian
Philosophy
The Laughing Mill, and Other Stories
Hawthorne, Julian
American fiction -- 19th century
acquaintance like this is not to be measured by hours or minutes. It is
a trite saying, and yet how true, that those who are under the influence
of a strong emotion may live years in a few heart-beats.
"'Please--oh, please don't look so solemn, Mr. Gainsborough! What has
happened? I should think, to look at you, that you had been robbed of
your diamonds at the very least?'
"'No; they are safe enough,' said I, calling up as cheerful a tone and
aspect as I could muster, and putting my hand over the inner pocket as
I spoke. 'Are you fond of diamonds?'
"'Oh, did you ever hear of a girl who wasn't? I think there is nothing
so beautiful. Papa has a great many, but he says I mustn't wear them
until after I am married. Isn't that hard?'
"'But perhaps you think of being married before long?' I inquired, with
positively a jealous throb at my heart.
"'No; that's the trouble; I know I shall never be married.' These words
were uttered in a lower and graver tone, and once more I thought I could
discern the flitting traces of that mysterious melancholy. But she
brightened up when I said:
"'Well, he won't object to your seeing my diamonds, at any rate; not
even to your putting them on, perhaps!'
"'Just for a minute--may I? that will be splendid! Papa says that some
of them are the finest he ever saw.'
"'For longer than a minute, Miss Birchmore, if you are willing--I mean
if he----' What did I mean, pray? Was I going to make an offer of my
hand, heart, and diamonds, on less than an hour's acquaintance, in a
railway carriage? and was I going to forget that the diamonds did not
belong to me at all, but to my respected mother, who would probably see
me cut off with a shilling before granting me the disposal of them?
Luckily for my self-possession and self-respect, the train drew up
just then at the station known as Krippen, on the bank of the river
immediately opposite Schandau. The guard opened the door; we alighted,
and the first person we saw was Mr. Birchmore, and close behind him a
short, ungainly, beetle-browed fellow, a valet or footman apparently,
with a campstool, an umbrella, and a small basket of fruit on his arm.
IV.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account